


The Run And Go

by eyasarcher



Series: Shorts [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky's a really good bro, Clint needs a big hug, Depression, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but we won't clarify anything, go into this with an open mind, hes actually more of like a good boyfriend or something, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyasarcher/pseuds/eyasarcher
Summary: Bucky Barnes' Monday morning doesn't exactly go to plan, but the change of plan is welcome.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so please go into this piece with an open mind.  
> I, as many do, suffer with a mental illness myself. However, that doesn't mean the way I perceive things and filter things, is the way that everyone does.  
> This piece is something I've been wanting to write for a long time, and idea I've been toying around with. And in said piece I apply some of my own experiences living with a mental illness, as well as the one's I've witnessed.  
> This story isn't meant to romanticise or undermine mental illnesses, this is just something that I wrote one day to seek solace.  
> Thanks for reading.

Monday mornings are Bucky’s favourite, three quarters of the population hate Monday mornings but Bucky isn’t any normal guy. They’re his favourite because he finds solace in the peace and quiet that comes with a Monday morning. Tony, Bruce, and Vision usually confine themselves to a lab and spend the entire day, and sometimes the entire night there. Monday’s are also the day kept aside exclusively for training, meaning Steve and Nat clear their schedules to put Wanda, Peter, and Sam through their paces. This means the rest of the tower is free reign for any other residing members of the team.

And today is just too perfect for the towers most elusive resident. Thor is off world with Jane, T’Challa has returned to Wakanda for the month, and Clint is more than likely still in bed. So when Bucky steps onto the silent communal floor with a beaming smile and an unusual spring in his step, he doesn’t expect to see the resident archer slumped at the breakfast bar looking withered and sad, his head hanging in the steam of his coffee.

Bucky falters, his chest tightening and his brows furrowing together in a frown. Clint is one of the most important members of the team, contrary to his own beliefs. The archer’s boundless energy in the field, quick tongue, and protective stance of the team he’s come to call family, is something that often motivates other members to do better. So this situation, despite his normal attitude in the morning, is quite worrying to see.

“You alright over there, Barton? You look like someone’s taken a shit in your coffee.”

Clint spears Bucky with the glare that peeks at him through the wafts of steam. The assassin raises his hands in surrender and decides that the other man is clearly not in the mood for jokes.

“Fuck you,” he responds weakly, his eyes dropping back to gaze at the cup which he’s clutching like a lifeline.

Bucky’s frown thickens, genuine concern beginning to rise in his chest. Clint might be difficult to handle most mornings, but today is different.

“Clint, are you okay?”

The archer sighs and straightens up a little to look at Bucky. He opens his mouth to say something, but almost immediately snaps it shut again, his eyes rolling back to materialise the obvious frustration coming off in waves.

“Not really feeling life at the moment.” Clint’s voice is thicker than usual, his grey eyes alight with emotions and Bucky can’t help how his heart jumps a little at the sight of the man.

Everyone knows Clint suffers, and unfortunately, like most battling mental illness, Clint chooses to suffer in silence, rarely reaching out to his team. It’s usually very hard to spot the cracks in the façade, the way that Clint’s smile sometimes doesn’t reach his eyes, how his hands sometimes shake a little, days where he shrugs his bow across his torso and clutches it in one hand so tightly that letting go might mean falling into an abys.

But then, on the rare occasion, there are days where Clint gives up and drops the whole act, the fort collapsing and spilling into mountains of dust and rubble. These rare days are usually the ones where the team, for maybe the first time in months, come together to subtly and carefully care for their comrade.

But unfortunately, today is a Monday morning, and everyone is busy.

Bucky examines the man in front of him. Clint for once, looks defeated. His sturdy frame is drowned out by one of Steve’s oversized grey hoodies, the hood thrown up to flatten his dirty blonde fringe to his forehead. His eyes are hollowed out against his cheeks, dark bags hanging heavy against his sweeping lashes. And his hands, curled so tightly around the mug that they pale, are scabbed and bloody, a clear sign that Clint has spent hours and hours finding catharsis in his craft, pushing himself to the very edge of his own existence.

And despite what it might look like to others, how it might seem, today isn’t a weak day, today is a strong day. It takes an enormous amount of strength to let the façade fall away, because this is how Clint asks for help, due to how his brain functions and filters things, he’s almost incapable of asking for the help he needs, so instead, he stops pretending to be fine.

Clint isn’t alone in how he feels. The whole team share problems. What with poor PTSD riddled Tony who spends days upon days locked up in a lab trying to waver the flashbacks that settle behind his eyes, or Steve, whose anxiety consumes him so much so, that sometimes he won’t sleep for three or four nights, his brain spilling into overdrive.

But Clint, Clint is different. Unlike all of his superhuman counterparts, Clint is high functioning, his walls built so high that they only waver once every eight to ten months. He disguises his depression and anxiety with quips and fake smiles, his mask being tied so tightly that even Clint believes the lies he tells.

The archer never stops, his sharp tongue always ready to cut a conversation in half, the way he swoops through the field with a growing sense of recklessness, how you know that he’ll always have your back covered, even when you don’t know he’s there.

“Did you shower over the weekend?” Bucky doesn’t sigh or patronise Clint, the man isn’t something fragile that needs to be held like he’s going to snap and break at any minute, he deserves respect.

Clint rolls his eyes a little before leaning back in his chair and shrugging, his shoulders rolling back in circles weakly.

“C’mon. You sleep more than two hours?” Bucky’s at Clint side now, and he can see how the smaller man’s body is trembling against the oceans of black obviously consuming his mind.

“Nope.” Clint huffs, his body moving and functioning, but his eyes fixed on some point in the distance, his thoughts elsewhere.

“You eaten?”

“Dunno.”

“Showered?”

“Nope.”

Bucky inhales sharply and smiles sadly, his metal arm hooking under Clint’s arms as he carefully pulls the man from the stool. Clint goes willingly, his body slump and heavy against Bucky’s. He’s numb, Bucky recognises this from his own experience, eventually after being at war with yourself for so long, you just don’t give much of a shit anymore. One day you can be crying, screaming, tearing out your hair. And the next, time passes so fast that what might seem like an hour spent laid in bed staring at the wall, has actually been three or four, the day passing so quickly that you have to find some kind of way of reminding yourself that you’re actually alive.

Bucky hauls the man to his room in silence. The assassin has kind of figured out how Clint works, the man hates being confronted about his illness, he despises people trying to play at being his therapist, he lost his shit and started shouting the one time that Steve tried doing the whole ‘You need to speak to someone Clint, you’re not well and you can’t spend your life living this way. Life is too short, you can’t keep acting like everything is fine.’

Clint doesn’t need or want that, he doesn’t want people telling him things he already knows and that he’s heard a billion times, sure, every once in a while you have to wade through his shit and ground him, remind him that he’s alive and exists. But the archer appreciates the smaller gestures, someone just saying ‘I don’t know how you’re feeling, but I have a vague understanding. I’m here for you whenever you need me.’

And usually from that point, you can work to give the man the kick up the bum he needs to get going again.

But this stage, this central part of an episode, is a time where despite Clint’s probable protests, you just need to be gentle and considerate, show him affection but give him enough space to breathe. Bucky always works to help Clint through day to day activities often taken for granted, things that for someone with Depression and Anxiety, become chores rather than a routine. He helps him, if Clint allows, to bathe and eat, choosing to make Clint light and enjoyable meals like stir-fry or salad.

And usually, after spending some hours together, Bucky, or whichever member of the team is present, will become Clint’s ear. And today is no different.

After helping Clint by holding him tightly under the parade of water falling from the showerhead, pressing light and gentle kisses to his neck whilst gently running shampoo through his previously greasy hair, the pair tangle themselves up in each other, clinging tightly to one another under the sheets of Clint’s bed.

“I know it’s stupid.” Clint starts, his hair tickling Bucky’s chin from where the man is rested against his chest. “I know that I can cope, I know that I’m strong, and sometimes I get these bursts of positivity and motivation. But other times I’m so disassociated, I feel like I’m not myself, like I’m not worthy of being alive. And I guess that’s kind of made worse by Loki. Y’know?”

The archer sucks in a breath, his arms tightening around Bucky’s middle.

“The thoughts always follow the same pattern. They get me worked over things that I know are irrational, and my brain starts to put a filter on things, and I find myself getting worked up and upset over things, and thoughts that shouldn’t even matter. Things that aren’t important.”

Bucky reaches up to gently trail his hand up Clint’s spine, a gesture that eases the tension from the man’s muscles bringing a relieved sigh from the archer.

“I’m okay though, just finding it difficult to hold my breath for this long.” Clint trails off, his chest heaving in frustration. “Sorry Buck-“

“Don’t start apologising to me Clint. This is okay, this is fine. I’m happy to listen, and no matter what you tell, I’m not about to run off and abandon you because ‘you’re not worth my time or this team.’ You’re more important that you think, Clint. And you deserve time to heal.”

Clint moves to peer up at Bucky through misty eyes, a small and appreciative smile growing on his lips.

“You’re such a sap,” his voice breaks a little, but Bucky pretends his doesn’t hear it and instead opts to stick his tongue out, blowing a raspberry at the man.

Clint throws him a mock glare before settling in the crook of Bucky’s neck, his eyes slowly falling closed.


End file.
